


While They’re In Each Other’s Arms

by RockingItInAParallelUniverse



Series: Songs of The Smiths [6]
Category: Morrissey (Musician), The Smiths
Genre: Andy has potential, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Celibacy, Dreamlike, F/M, I Don't Even Know, Implied Sexual Content, Jealousy, Johnny’s jealous, M/M, Unrequited Love, Voyeurism, What happens in California stays in California
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-18 08:24:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21991171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RockingItInAParallelUniverse/pseuds/RockingItInAParallelUniverse
Summary: It’s the day after Johnny’s wedding to Angie. Things become uncomfortable when the newlyweds go at it in the adjoining hotel room next to Morrissey. What will Moz do after peeping at the happy couple?
Relationships: Johnny Marr/Angie Marr, Johnny Marr/Morrissey, Morrissey/Andy Rourke
Series: Songs of The Smiths [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1499339
Comments: 10
Kudos: 19





	While They’re In Each Other’s Arms

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by “I Know It’s Over” off The Queen Is Dead. 
> 
> Title also comes from the song.
> 
> None of this is true. Except Johnny’s wedding. That did happen the day before the Oakland concert in 1985. Everything else is fiction.

My pillow is curled around my ears, cushioning my face. It still doesn’t silence the noise. The headboard is thumping heavily against the wall. The entire bed rattles. Johnny is taking his own advice. The same advice he tells me at least twice a week. All I need is a good humping.

If Johnny’s as good in bed as he brags, I am experiencing a good humping right now. Secondhand. The west coast leg of our tour and his honeymoon are one and the same. I knew he and Angie would be active, but I severely underestimated the intensity of their lovemaking. I'm not sure why. They did just get married yesterday. Taking the room next to the happy couple was an incredibly stupid move.

Johnny curses loudly. I hug my pillow tighter over my head. I want this to stop. Not just the noises and the shuddering bed, but the pain I feel every time I see them together. It’s ridiculous. I'm sick of it. Really.

The door beside my bed beckons me. This is the doorway I traversed last night whilst working on music with Johnny. Yes, he spent his wedding night with me. My side is still unlocked. Is his? Silently, I turn the cold, black knob and open my half of our adjoining room. Time slows down. The silver lever looms in front of me, taunting me. I finger the last remaining obstacle between myself and the, erm, action.

I draw back my hand as static electricity shocks me back to some semblance of sanity. What the hell is wrong with me? Why on earth would I want to see them in the throes of passion? But he deserves this. He's the one constantly harping on me about sex. Maybe he'll feel a taste of the discomfort, embarrassment, and awkwardness that I go through every time he proclaims sex will cure my ills.

A particularly loud male groan and feminine shriek stab me in the heart. This sort of pleasure is unknown to me. The headboard is banging the wall once again. I'll take just one tiny peek, a glimpse of what I am missing, and then I’ll close the door on the couple forever. Yeah. Forever. Sure.

The lever turns practically by itself and I let the door glide open a tiny crack, just enough for one of my eyes to squint and attempt to decipher the dark shapes inside. Johnny's thin arms flex with the weight of his body hovering over his wife. Poetry in motion. My chest constricts tightly and I hold my breath. He is violent with his love. I can feel the wall tremble in rhythm. I turn my attention to his face. He looks so young, even in this moment of sexual prowess. The short, glossy black hair delightfully mussed, the sweaty brow furrowed in concentration, the round, brown eyes staring...at me. I open my mouth to beg forgiveness, but only silence escapes. Johnny growls. He doesn't drop his eyes from mine and I feel the hottest, most shameful blush of my life engulf my face. The speed of his vigor increases, yet I stand still, frozen in time like some old, forgotten monument. He holds my gaze as he moans and curses in a state of bliss. His mouth forms the shape of my name. I can only blink, slowly backing into my room, trying to close the door, but not before Johnny sighs with pleasure and smirks at me.

******

Well, that really did not go as planned. Johnny should have been engrossed with his wife. I was supposed to see once and for all the difference between romantic love and a friendly partnership. I needed him to yell at me, throw something, look at me in disgust or even better, embarrassment. I sip on a glass of wine. I fled my room for the hotel bar to analyze this latest debacle in our relationship. There’s still two hours before we need to leave for the sound check. The red liquid swirls in the glass, a tiny maelstrom of alcohol. He’s tormenting me. I should be used to this feeling by now. After 3 years, Johnny still won't give me what I require.

“Are you alright, Mozzer?” a soft, deep voice asks.

“Andy! You startled me.” I can feel my cheeks flush. Great. “I’m fine. Just knocking about down here until it’s time to go.”

“Yeah. I took a nap, but now I’m just bored.”

I nod in reply. Besides our music, I don’t really have much in common with the blonde bassist. Johnny seems to be our common denominator. Well, not in the same way. Andy and Johnny go way back together. They were schoolmates. Most of the time I speak to Andy while he talks to Johnny. Our conversation falls flat without him.

“I think I’ll take a walk," I say. I wish I were drunk.

“Do you think that’s a good idea?”

“It’s better than getting pissed before a show.”

“Would you mind if I joined you? Ya know, safety in numbers and all that,” Andy shyly asks.

I stare blankly at my bassist. I just want some fresh air and time to collect my thoughts. Or block certain thoughts.

“Well, alright, I guess. I don’t think, um, what city are we in again?”

Andy laughs. “Oakland.”

“I don’t think Oakland has a deadly reputation. Does it?”

“No, but you might get lost. I don’t expect you’re familiar with the streets since you weren’t even aware of what city we’re in.”

“And you are?” I raise an eyebrow at him.

The blonde turns a lovely shade of red. He is quite fetching with his blush and closed-mouthed smile. “You got me there. But it’s usually better to be lost with a friend than lost by yourself. Especially in a foreign country.”

“You’ve just earned the right to accompany me. Shall we stroll, then?” He does have a point. I'm grateful for the distraction. Perhaps I haven’t given Andy enough attention. He seems like the perfect companion for such an odd day. Outdoors, we are greeted with grey skies and a brisk breeze.

"This feels a lot like home," I say, noting the weather conditions.

Andy nods and snorts a laugh as he lights a cigarette. "You don't mind, do you?" he asks after taking a drag.

"Of course not. As long as I'm upwind of you." I wonder if Andy knows I'm joking. He seems to think he's the jokester of the two of us. We turn right and follow the sidewalk toward the train station. A light drizzle falls from the sky. Andy shrugs further into his jacket. I'm thankful for my overcoat and hat.

"Do you wanna go back? It's getting rather nasty out."

"I love walking in the rain. I think it's my favorite time to be outdoors. A sunny day is so overrated."

"I wouldn't know," Andy mumbles. "Isn't California supposed to be the sunshine state?"

"Hmmm. I think that's Florida. We could take a train?" I suggest as we pass a sign directing us toward the station.

"To where? And we'd have to know how to get back in time for the sound check."

"Spoilsport. Where's your sense of adventure?" Being the more spontaneous half of a duo is intriguing. The thought of catching a train bound for anywhere with Andy sounds so much better than boarding the coach to another musty theater for yet another gig.

We pass the train station and turn right again. I glance over at Andy. The bassist has his hands stuffed deep into his coat pockets. His eyes are downcast and his lips are moving.

"Having a good conversation with yourself?"

The blonde blushes and nearly trips over his feet. "I'm just rehearsing what I'm gonna tell Johnny when he rakes me over the coals for allowing you to drag us wherever we are right now."

"Johnny is not my keeper," I hotly respond.

"That's what you think."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You should hear how he fusses over you when you're not around. 'D'ya think Mozzer's ok? Does he seem down to you? I hope Morrissey's not coming down with a cold. Did Moz's voice sound a bit gruff?'" Andy mimics the guitarist's soft Mancunian voice to perfection.

"I can take care of myself, I'll have you know." The thought of Johnny coddling me makes my stomach roil. I stop walking, grab Andy's arm and spin him toward me. "Is that why you wanted to walk with me? Do you think I'm some kind of helpless man-child who needs supervision?" I'm angry but my eyes fill with tears. Even my anger is inept. 

Andy blinks a few times and takes a deep breath. "No. I don't." His green eyes search my face from under his lashes . "But that's what Johnny would think. He'd never believe me if I said I went because I like you." He turns his eyes to the sidewalk and mutters, "I don't expect you'd believe me, either."

What is it about today? I feel like an actor in a play with the wrong script. I'm still holding on to Andy's arm. "I suspect you're right," I release my grip on his firm bicep.

We walk in silence for about three more blocks. "I seem to be participating in an out-of-body experience." I'm not sure if we are walking in companionable silence or an awkward one.

"It's alright. It's been a weird couple of weeks."

That's an understatement. "What do you like to do in our rare hours of downtime?" I attempt to change the subject.

"Oh. I read, sleep or screw around with my guitar."

"You've always wanted to be a musician, then?"

Andy smiles. "Yeah. I drove my parents crazy begging for musical instruments. I didn't have a head for school. What about you?”

“I always thought I’d be a writer.”

“Well you are one, right?”

“Yes. And a pop star. In spite of what my teachers told me.”

The hotel is in sight. Our walk seems all too brief.

“There you are! Jesus fucking Christ! We’re supposed to be at the sound check now!” Johnny is livid.

Andy visibly cowers at Johnny's outburst. I remain calm. "Don't be too harsh on him, he was keeping me company."

"What makes you think I'm being harsh on just him?" His brown eyes crackle with something. A loss of control, perhaps?

"Why don't you and Mike head on over then? Andy and I will take a cab to catch up with you once we're ready."

"We can't do a sound check without the fucking bass guitar!"

"Have a tech play it. We won't be that long," Andy jumps in to support me.

Johnny nods, mumbles and walks off. Serves him right. "He's such an angry lad when he doesn't get his way," I tell Andy as we wait for a lift to our rooms.

The blonde's green eyes widen at my words.

"What did I say?"

"That's what he says about you. Word for word, mate."

"Well I suppose it's true. For both of us." An important insight into my relationship with Johnny is lurking just out of my reach.

Meanwhile, Andy is tapping his fingers. "You're not gonna answer me, are you?"

"Sorry. Was deep in thought."

"Meet in the lobby in 15 minutes?"

"Yes. Sure," I wave my hand dismissively. He had more to say than that. I mentally kick myself for zoning out on our conversation. But I can’t stop thinking about Johnny. He wants to control me. He desires control as much as I do. Our relationship is not one of equals, I'm afraid. Neither of us is willing to be the person the other one needs.

******

We make it through the gig. It is difficult to avoid your guitarist on stage. I'm not an actor but I give myself two-thumbs up for tonight's attempt at a performance. Just one more week of this. Then we can take a break. From touring, at least. Johnny and I don't really take breaks. It's not in our nature. I drink another beer at this small club we’ve managed to find ourselves at. I've lost count how many I've drunk. Johnny wants me on a string. He wants to keep me close, but not too close. I'm a dog. Nice to play with, a good companion, loyal to a fault. This is not how I wish to live. I am proudly celibate. I desire no one. I love, but not completely.

I can hear Mike laughing with Andy. I take my drink and sit with them at their table, away from the crowded bar.

“Mozzer! You joining us?” Mike asks with a smile on his face.

“Is this your table? My mistake.” I reply, making as though I were walking away.

Andy cackles. “He got you, mate!” he squawks at Mike.

“What’s got you in the mood to socialize?”

“I’m still energized from the show. There’s something exhilarating in the California air.”

“Exhilarating. That’s a good word. I like it,” Andy babbles.

I pat him on the back. “Adding to your vocabulary like a smart lad."

“Hey,” he frowns. “I am a smart lad.” I wonder how many drinks he’s had.

“Isn’t that what I just said?” I can feel my lips turning up into a smile.

“Moz is on fire tonight. Another round of drinks!”

I find comfort in their laughter and banter.

“Where's Angie?" Mike calls out.

I don't bother to turn my head to acknowledge a certain guitarist’s approach. Instead, I study Andy's profile. His cheeks are round, soft, with just a hint of stubble smattering his jawline. I never noticed the breadth of his shoulders before. Hard to miss the way his black t-shirt clings to them.

"You ok, Mozzer?" Andy catches me staring.

"Just admiring the view." I'm rewarded with a shy smile, quick downcast of his eyes and that ever-so endearing blush that colors his pale cheeks.

"You've hardly said three words to me all night," Johnny weasels his way between me and and Andy.

"You're a newlywed. This is my wedding gift to you. A few hours reprieve from my whinging sadness and self-pity."

"But I love your whinging and pity parties. It's made me the man I am today."

"Don't sell yourself short, my dear. You were always going to become this man with or without me."

A strained silence falls between us. We’ve reached a stalemate. Mike and Andy exchange nervous glances.

Mike scoots to the other side of Andy. Now we are all sitting in a row on the same side of the table. I've lost Andy's attention to Mike. They talk in low voices stealing glimpses of me and Johnny after every few words. I stand, ready to escape back to the bar.

"Oh, so you'll stay here and drink as long as I'm not around," Johnny says in a tone closer to annoyance than humor.

"My actions don't revolve around you. I was going to the bar. We look stupid sitting in a line at a table. Like we’re holding fucking court or waiting to be adored.

Andy hops up. "He's right, you know."

I hide my smile behind my hand and wrap my other arm around the bassist's broad shoulders as he joins me. "You are a smart lad, Andy. I should never have doubted you."

He beams with pride.

Johnny stands and reluctantly joins us at the bar. “It’s your fault, you know,” he says to me.

“Pardon?”

“This afternoon at the hotel.”

I almost choke on my drink. “I’m well aware. I should have called down to the front desk to file a noise complaint instead of attempting to handle it myself.” I can’t look at him. He can always read both truth and fiction in my eyes.

“Morrissey,” he begins, resting his slender fingers on the nape of my neck.

“It’s starting to be a crush, mates” Mike says to us. “Unless you want to endure the fangirls and boys, I suggest we leave now.”

We pile into a cab to return to the hotel. The city lights here are so strange. Modern without soul or character. No history to give them purpose. My three bandmates banter easily. I am a foreigner here amongst them. We have a language barrier dividing us. My alcoholic buzz fades.

“You’re not coming up?” Johnny asks as he heads toward the lifts of our hotel.

“Not yet. I’m going to have a nightcap at the bar.”

“That sounds like a great idea!” Andy smiles and follows me.

“You wankers have a good night. I’m fucking knackered.” Mike joins Johnny at the lifts.

Andy prattles on about bass lines, poetry and Suzy Quattro. I’ve never heard him talk so much. He is invigorated by the alcohol. I stifle a yawn.

“Shit. I’m sorry. I’m boring you.”

“Not at all,” I say truthfully. “I could listen to your voice all night.” I can feel my ears redden as his green gaze fastens on my lips. The alcohol makes me brave. Or stupid. I’m not sure which. But I squeeze Andy’s denim clad knee that is resting dangerously close to mine.

“Maybe we should call it a night, then,” he suggests. His eyes dart from my hand on his knee back to my lips.

My tongue does a quick sweep over them. A nervous tick. “I think that would be a grand idea.”

In the lift, I realize that the newlyweds will most likely be back at it. “Andy, would you mind terribly if I came back to your room?”

“What?” 

“It’s just that Johnny and Angie, well, you know…”

“Oh! Of course. Probably a mite bit awkward, yeah?”

"And loud," I nod. He smiles his closed-lipped grin. He really is quite precious. I bump into him when he stops at his room. I forgot his was so close to the lifts.

“Sorry, “ I stammer.

“It’s alright. Maybe I should steady you?”

I look at him questioningly and he wraps a strong arm around my waist and pulls me against his hip. I suck in a quick breath. He licks his lips as he quickly unlocks the door. We tumble inside and the door slams behind us.

Andy is kissing up and down my neck. He has me pressed against the wall of the room. His lips are light whispers and I tremble from the sensation. My body responds as it should, but my mind floats above us, calmly taking mental notes.

“Oh shit, Moz, you feel so fucking good against me,” Andy groans as he presses himself from his thighs all the way to his lips against my willing body.

I close my eyes when he attacks my mouth, his tongue boring a hole through the wall of my lips. I taste cigarettes and alcohol, a mixture of staleness and sterility, like the smell of the waiting area in A&E. His tongue is gentle yet persistent. I stroke the underside of it with my own and feel the vibrations of his moan tickling me, sending more blood rushing to my groin. I might be sighing into his mouth. I might even have my hands gripped tightly in the lapels of his coat. My knees buckle and he breaks our embrace to drag me toward the bed. I am aware of what is happening, but the need for oxygen outweighs the need to protest our actions.

He shrugs out of his coat, his green eyes foggy with lust. I lie on the bed, kicking off my shoes in the process. I inhale sharply and close my eyes when his hands push my thighs apart and he settles between them stroking my belly underneath my shirt.

“Oh shit, Mozzer,” he grumbles into my neck. He is grinding against me and I whimper and nibble on his earlobe. “Fuck!” he cries out, rolling his hips.

I open my eyes. I am floating above this scene. My mind is detached from the yearning desire in my body. What is wrong with me? Andy is attractive, muscular, and gentle. He might actually care about me. Why can’t I lose myself under the feel of his weight, in the excitement of my arousal straining against him?

He’s brushing my hair out of my eyes, leaning onto his elbow that’s pressed into the sagging hotel mattress. “You’re not really into this, are you?” he asks and he slides his lovely body off mine, resting on his side, our fingers still entwined.

“No, but I want to be.” I gently stroke the rough pads of his fingertips. I grip his thumb and squeeze. My blue eyes search his green ones. They are hollow, almost sightless as the green dominates the shrinking passion of his black pupils.

He pulls our hands to his mouth and suckles my knuckles. “Is that enough for you?”

“I don’t know,” I sigh.

“It’s enough for me,” he says, rubbing the back of my hand against his warm, stubbly cheek. Then he softly adds, ”It’s all I’ve ever known.”

A lump forms in my throat. My chest aches with reality. 16 years of failures press the air from my lungs. “I...I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“I can show you. If you’ll let me.”

My skin prickles at the thought. I run the fingers of my hand not entwined with his through his spiky blonde hair. The tips are stiff with hairspray, but underneath it’s soft as cotton. I nuzzle his neck and whisper in his ear, ”You deserve more than this.”

A strange laugh bubbles up from his throat. “So do you. But we’re all we’ve got tonight.”

Is it the alcohol or something else that has me determined to make him smile? We two fools blunder forward, undressing each other with fumbling hands.

“As far as anyone else is concerned, I’m still celibate,“ I say as I pull the tight black t-shirt over Andy’s head.

“Oh, yeah. Of course. And I’m straight as a fucking arrow,” he manages to groan as his tongue circles my nipple.

So nothing really happened that June night in northern California. The day after Johnny’s wedding. Nothing of any importance occurred that might have triggered a heroin relapse or crippling depression. We didn’t do anything to change the dynamics of the group. Somehow, the thread that bound the four of us together frayed and began to unravel all by itself.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been mulling on this for awhile. It was about to be deleted from my drafts so I hurried up and finished it.
> 
> I edited a few things that bothered me. Nothing major. Just me being anal.


End file.
